Apocalypse Atlanta (70 page)

“Whatever.” Peter said as he reached the idling Bronco.  He backed and filled a few times to get the SUV turned around fully, then eased back past the bus.  The Jeep was already in place, jammed up against the retaining wall.  Barker was just climbing out of the passenger door.

Peter stopped and stuck his head out the broken window on his door.  “Turn the headlights and anything else electrical off.  Make sure the hood is popped.  Put it in neutral.  And stay in there!” he shouted.

Barker paused, then pulled his legs back into the Jeep and closed the door.  Peter swung around and angled the Bronco in as close as he could without touching the bus with the SUV’s bumper.  It was a tight squeeze, but he was able to get out the driver’s door after he pulled the hood release.

“Jumper cables.” Hernandez said, meeting him at the back of the Bronco.

Peter looked at them, then took one end of each and walked to stretch them out.  Peter looked at the lengths, then over at the bus and the two idling SUVs.  “Hmm, gonna be tight.”

“Well these are the best we’ve got.” Hernandez released the cables and gestured vaguely at the barricade cars.  “And there’s only one more set, but they’re little dinky Mickey Mouse ones.  Whoever owned the Altima apparently was relying on a cellphone and Triple A to get them out of any problems, because the only thing in that trunk is the spare tire.  There isn’t even a damn jack.”

“Takes all kinds.” Peter shrugged.  “Whitley.”

“Here.”

Peter stepped back and turned.  Whitley was standing right behind where he’d been a moment ago.  “I need to put a bell on you or something.”

“You couldn’t hear it right now anyway.” Whitley said with a smirk.

“Which is your fault.”

“Hearing loss or being eaten.  Tough one sarge.”

Peter scowled.  “Get in the Bronco.  Stick it in neutral and rev the engine up when I tell you.”

“Roger.”  She started over to the Bronco, slinging her M-16 as she went.

“You need a hand?” Hernandez asked.

“No, I don’t want to pull anyone else off the barricade here.” Peter said.  “Wait, go tell Roper to get in the bus and sit in the driver’s seat.  Then cover the barricade.”

“Got it.” Hernandez started towards the back of the bus.  Peter went to the open engine compartment and sorted out the cables, laying them each out apart from one another.  He also clipped the negative clamps on each end of each cable onto the cord to make sure the clamps didn’t touch and spark.  Electrocution was the last thing he needed right now.

As he lifted the hood on the Bronco he heard Roper calling his name.  Turning, Peter saw the Guardsman had opened up the driver’s side window of the bus and was peering out at him.  “What’s the deal?  Sitting here is disgusting, the seat’s covered in blood and bits.”

“Check all the switches in there.” Peter said, pointing at the bus.  “Make sure everything is off.  Then wait for me to give you further instructions.”

“Okay.” Roper said, looking down at the console.

Peter picked up the loose ends of one of the jumper cable sets and considered the Bronco’s battery for a moment.  Cautiously, standing back and reaching in so he didn’t touch the Bronco, he clipped the positive clamp of the cables down on the Bronco’s battery.

Turning to the bus, he attached the other positive clamp to one of the batteries’ corresponding terminal.  Back to the Bronco again, where he moved the negative clamp to the negative terminal on the battery.  Then to the bus, where he moved the last clamp to a convenient engine bolt that was at the limit of what the cable could reach to.

Working quickly but carefully, Peter repeated the process with the Jeep, connecting its battery to the remaining battery in the bus.  When he had them both wired up, he released the breath he’d been holding.  Nothing had exploded.  Sparks were always a danger, and batteries sometimes leaked gas.  Electrocution would be bad, but so would being set on fire by the explosion, or burned by splattering battery acid.  It was just all sorts of bad if anything went wrong.  But so far so good.

“Roper!” he said, speaking loudly.

“Try it?”

“No!” Peter said, shaking his head.  “Wait for me to tell you, not before.  All those switches checked?”

“Yeah sarge.  Everything’s off.”

“Okay.  Turn the key on but don’t try to crank it.  Just wait.”  He jammed his tactical light into his pants pocket, then ducked out beneath the cables running from the Bronco to the bus.

He took a quick glance at the barricade.  There were at least a double handful of zombie bodies draped over the hoods and trunks of the cars that were parked between the retaining walls on either side of the ramp to Courtland.  The asphalt stretching off south was starting to fill with more, these mostly on their feet and staggering to join the scrum at the barricade.

So far, the cover team was keeping them back without having to use any precious ammo.  The clubs, some of them four and five feet long, were being used to knock and shove the zombies back from the cars.  Those with bayonets or blades were moving back and forth, trying to stab any zombie that got too eager in its efforts to get past the obstacle between itself and the warm food it wanted.

Peter shuddered as he watched one zombie stagger back with a damned
crease
in its skull from a club.  Even in the moonlight, Peter could see a bit of bone or brain, something white anyway, peeking past the zombie’s brown hair.  He turned his head away from the barricade and, standing about ten feet back from the bus and wired up trucks, cupped his hands around his mouth.  “Okay!  You guys rev the engines up!” he shouted.

Whitley stepped on the Bronco’s accelerator, followed a few moments later by the Jeep as Barker followed suit.  Peter waited, counting slowly to thirty in his head.  He really didn’t want to have to sit here charging up the bus battery with the two SUVs, but putting a little bit of a trickle charge in it might help somewhat.

“Roper!  Give it a go!” Peter said when he finished his count.  He saw Roper’s head turn to him, and Peter gave him a thumbs up when the Guardsman didn’t seem to have heard him.  Roper nodded and turned forward.  A moment later Peter heard the MARTA bus’ engine turning over.  It cranked for about ten seconds, then abruptly he heard the throaty rumble as the big diesel caught and began idling.

“Alrigh–shit!” Peter said, elated for an instant before there was an loud boom.  He ducked involuntarily, flinging his hands up to cover his face and head, but now there was only an echo.  When he peeked out past his arms he saw smoke rising from the Jeep’s engine compartment.

“Oh fuck me.” Peter groaned, straightening up and running forward.  Whitley was leaning across and rolling down the passenger side window as he came.

“Sarge, his–” she shouted.

“I know.  Back yours up when I tell you.”  Peter yelled, starting to unhook the jumper cables that connected the Bronco to the bus.  He had them off in moments and flung them aside, then dropped the hood on the SUV.  “Okay, back it off!” he said, making a ‘go away’ gesture to Whitley as she stared at him.

“The fucking Jeep is on fire.” Roper said loudly.

“I fucking know!” Peter said, reaching back into the bus’ engine compartment and unclamping the other set of cables.  The smoke coming from the Jeep was now joined with heat, which he could feel on the back of his neck as he disengaged the clamps.  Not good.  He took an extra few seconds to drop the engine compartment closed, then stepped away.  As he did, he saw Barker tumbling out of the passenger door of the burning Jeep.

“Barker, pop the brake release in that thing!” Peter shouted.

“Screw that!” Barker exclaimed.

“I got it.” Peter heard Hernandez say loudly.  He’d scarcely turned his head when the tall Guardsman went past him and flung himself across the front seats of the Jeep.

“Roper, back up!” Peter shouted.

“There’s no room!” Roper yelled back.

“You – fuck it.” Peter swore, turning and sprinting for the back of the bus.  As he rounded the rear he saw Oliver standing there with his M-16 out and panning around nervously.

“What–”

“Get out of the way!” Peter said loudly.  “Going to move the bus, stand clear.”  He didn’t wait to see if Oliver had heard him.  He just ran up to the front of the bus and up the steps.  “Move!  Let me get there.” Peter said to Roper as he came aboard.

Roper scrambled clear and Peter dropped into the seat.  Flames were beginning to engulf the engine of the Jeep, licking up a couple of feet high.  Peter stepped on the brake pedal as he scanned across the console controls.  He slapped at the emergency brake button in case they’d been set after the accident, then thumbed the running and head lights active just because he happened to see those switches.

Dropping the gear shift into reverse, he started backing up before he checked the mirrors.  As the bus started moving and he looked at the one on his side, then at the other one, he swore.  Either whoever had been driving this when it wrecked was short as hell or someone had fiddled with them between the wreck and now.  Both showed him nothing but the sides of the bus.

“Roper, hang your head out the door and tell me if I’m about to hit the wall back there.” Peter said quickly.

“I–on it.” Roper said, clattering down the steps and sticking his head out the open doors as Peter cranked the steering wheel to start the bus turning to the left.  There was a grinding, crunching noise that he felt more than heard as the Jeep’s front bumper scraped across the side of the moving bus.  The heat from the blazing Jeep was radiating in through the open window on his left, but Peter ignored it as he continued backing up.

Abruptly, the grinding stopped as the bus backed up enough for the Jeep to begin rolling.  The Connector was below the grade of the city proper just about everywhere it traversed through downtown, including here.  That meant the ramp went up to join with Courtland, which meant there was a down slope that could pull the Jeep forward.  As the bus got out of the way, the Jeep went downhill, past its front and toward the trio of wrecked cars under the overpass.

“Uh–” Roper started to say, then there was a thump as Peter backed the bus into the retaining wall behind him.  Peter rocked back against the seat as he slammed on the brakes, then turned his head to glare at Roper.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Peter said sourly.

“Shit, sorry sarge.” Roper said weakly.

“It’s fine.”  Shifting into drive, Peter spun the steering wheel to the right and crept forward.  The headlights were almost unnecessary right now, as the Jeep fire was really getting underway.  Peter hoped there weren’t any pools of dried gasoline around the wrecks, which would add unnecessary energy to the blaze.

He slowly curved the bus around to the right, then shifted again and backed up to the left once more.  In another thirty seconds he had the bus facing the wrong way on the exit ramp, straight at the wrecks between him and the Connector’s southbound lanes.  Setting the emergency brakes with a loud hiss as air released from the lines, Peter pushed past Roper and tipped his head back.

“Folks, we are fucking leaving!” he screamed as loudly as he could.  He saw Mendez’s team, who had scattered away from the wrecks when the bus started moving forward, trotting toward him.  He turned to shout in the direction of the barricade they’d set up closer to Courtland, but Hernandez’ and Smith’s people were already coming.

Well, all except Crawford.  She was getting back into the CRX.  Peter frowned.  “What the hell is Crawford doing?” he asked loudly as the first of the barricade teams got near enough to hear him over the rumble of the bus’ diesel engine.

“She wants to ride point for us.” Swanson said with a shrug.  “Crazy bitch.”

“I–whatever.” Peter said, abruptly deciding he didn’t give a fuck.  If she wanted to risk it, fine.  He didn’t ask her to.  Right as that thought went through his head, there was another boom.  This one was much softer than the resounding report of the battery exploding, but still loud enough to make him flinch.  Peter turned to see a small ball of smoke roiling up from the Jeep fire, lit hellishly in the flickering flames.

“All aboard.” Peter said, climbing back into the bus and sitting behind the wheel again.  He took a moment to study the side console again, then hit the rocker switch that activated the internal lights.  The panels on the bus’ ceiling lit with a soft white light that was very welcome after the gloom of the powerless city.

“Team leads, sound off when all accounted for.”  As Peter spoke he looked for his people.  Roper, check.  Oliver, check.  Whitley . . . shit.  He didn’t see her.

“Sarge, you forgot this.” Whitley said.  He took his eyes from the ‘rear view’ mirror that only let the driver see the passengers rather than behind the bus to see Whitley standing next to him.  She had his ILBE in her hand and a wry grin on her face.  “I think you broke that Jeep.”

“Yeah, well, the insurance can bill me.” Peter said, pointing at the floor in front of the fare machine.  Whitley dropped his pack next to the column bolted to the floor where passengers put in their tokens or fed their dollar bills to pay for the ride.  “Team leads, how we doing?”

“Team Two good.” Hernandez said.

“Three here.” Smith added.

“Team four ready.” Mendez finished out the count.